


Spectacle of the Arena

by armouredescort



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blood, Blood Drinking, Gladiators, Grooming, M/M, Pre-Voltron Shiro, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scarification, Shendak, Shiro Week, Shiro's Missing Year, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8625604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armouredescort/pseuds/armouredescort
Summary: Sendak is displeased with the Champion's hygiene. He decides to do something about it, and instead of leaving it to his attendants, Sendak grooms the Champion himself. Needless to say, the Champion is not pleased about it.aka: the fic where Sendak licks Shiro a lot and gives him the nose scar





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here for the Shendak hell.

After the Champion's first fight, Sendak had purchased him. It wasn't uncommon for officers to buy gladiators. Good gladiators made their owners money. The Champion – not that he was called that then, he was just a prisoner number – had burnt a small hole in Sendak's pocket upon purchase, but quickly earned the money back in his next match.

As the Champion's record grew, so did his fame. He was moved from a lower cell to a larger room, one with all of the facilities he needed to remain in peak condition.

Which was why Sendak was not happy to overhear chatter about the untidy and filthy state the Champion was in. It reflected badly upon Sendak as if he couldn't look after one gladiator, especially one so well decorated.

There was only one thing for it: the Champion had to be groomed. If he was refusing to groom himself, then Sendak would groom the Champion whether the gladiator liked it or not.

Unlike Galra fur, the human's hair wasn't permanently short. It wasn't long into his gladiator's career before the shaved hair had grown back and the greying tuft of hair started to fall into the Champion's eyes. The extra length almost cost the Champion his life, obscuring his vision during a fight and earning him a new scar across his back.

Bleeding heavily, the Champion rolled away in the sand, and went still. His opponent, a waspish creature that Sendak hadn't bothered to learn about, gloated as they approached the Champion's motionless body and raised their sword to finish him.

A handful of sand sprayed into the face of the Champion's opponent. The Champion was on his feet before the other fighter could recover. There was a flash of metal and the Champion's opponent was beheaded. Their head rolled twice in the arena's sand before coming to a rest against a pillar.

The cheering from the audience was ravenous, thirsty for more blood, and delighted that the Champion had survived another round. Not all of them were death matches – there were some which were "games" that could end in death but not always – but any victory was well received.

Sendak was pleased, leaning back in his chair in the officers' lounge as one of his lieutenants collected betting money. The Champion had been a worthy investment, lasting longer than anyone had expected. The Champion was human, fragile compared to a Galra, as proven by his crew mates. Humans were not as bloodthirsty, not as strong, not as well protected against claws and teeth and blades, but they were adaptable.

They were smarter than their original captors had noted in their mission report. What humans lacked in natural defences, they made up for in sheer stubbornness and determination. And a strange sense of loyalty to each other.

When the Champion had injured his fellow human friend, Sendak saw through his act for what it was: sacrifice. The Champion acted like he craved blood, but he didn't have the same boiling lust for it like the best Galra soldiers had. Which wasn't to say he didn't have a fighting spirit. The Champion had plenty of spirit. It was what had kept him alive.

Now that the Champion was acting the part, he had to look the part if he were to climb the ranks and stay in favour of the crowds. Nothing was more important than appearance for those who made it past their first few rounds of the arena.

With a large grooming kit under one arm, Sendak unlocked the Champion's cell and stepped inside, making sure the door closed before he went any further. It wasn't uncommon for the Champion to attempt to escape, fighting as many as five guards at once.

The room appeared to be empty, not that there was anywhere to hide for long. It was sparse, but cleaned every time the Champion was removed for a fight. A sunken tub was in one corner of the room, and a toilet and basin next to that. On the opposite wall was a built in bed which was more of a shelf on a box for storing clothes and other personal items, not that the Champion had any. Between the bed and the bath, a small table and seat could be pulled out from the wall, with enough space to place a meal tray.

The Champion was in there somewhere. Quite frankly, Sendak was impressed the Champion had managed to hide for so long, considering the only place he could really hide would be in the bath or under the bed.

A sudden movement caught his eye, and Sendak twisted towards it, bringing up his prosthetic arm to defend himself, and dropping the grooming kit. The Champion slammed into it. Although he was clearly winded, the human still tried to claw at Sendak, hands getting a grip around one of Sendak's claws and pulling himself up.

Sendak admired the effort. It was sweet. He flung the Champion to the floor and watched him tumble away. Before the Champion could get up, Sendak's prosthetic shot out and pinned him down.

"You're making a fuss," said Sendak.

The Champion snarled and bucked up, arms stuck to his sides. Sendak could feel him thrashing about, and slowly closed his hand around that tiny body. As the pressure closed in on the Champion, he yelped, going still. Sendak could feel the rapid beating of the Champion's heart, the sharp intake of breath.

"Better," said Sendak.

He pulled his arm back, taking the Champion with him, and inspected the human closely. This was the first time he'd bothered to check on his purchase personally, relying on his lieutenants' reports to purchase the Champion, and leaving the Champion's care mostly in the hands of guards and medics.

But he could see that someone had been lying to him about the Champion's health. Sendak released the Champion onto the floor, letting the human kneel to recover. Being hunched over and panting, the Champion's injured back was exposed. The Champion reeked of sweat and blood, and sand still stuck to him. The jumpsuit was torn, his small shirt nearly coming off at one shoulder.

Sendak grimaced.

"You're disgusting. Get into the bath," he said.

"Fuck you," snapped the Champion.

He raised his head and there was that determination back again. Those dark eyes were equally as vicious as a Galra's yellow ones, trying to establish dominance. He spat at Sendak.

He missed and Sendak stared at the saliva with the same unimpressed look one would give a kitten throwing a tantrum.

If the Champion was going to act like a kitten, Sendak would treat him like one. Snagging the Champion around the collar, Sendak picked him up and dumped him into the cell's sunken bath.

Before the Champion could scramble out, Sendak turned on the water and soaked him. He flung his prosthetic hand over to the grooming kit and dragged it to the bath, his other hand holding the Champion's skull.

"Let me go," said the Champion.

"I don't think so. Not until you're clean," replied Sendak.

He grabbed the Champion's purple shirt, ripping it off. Sendak's claws made short work of the Champion's jumpsuit, tearing it away from his back wound.

Interestingly, the Champion tried to snatch back his clothes. Humans were rather shy about their skin.

"I can clean myself," the Champion said.

Sendak laughed, pushing the Champion against the bath tub to expose his front. Streaks of dirt and sand were smeared across his chest, the water already in the tub carving out trickles of clean skin.

"Clearly you cannot."

Sendak tried to pull the Champion's clothes all the way down, but the Champion wasn't having any of it, valiantly holding onto the piece that kept his crotch covered.

"Let me do it," said the Champion.

The kitten was being snarly and disobedient.

"Let go, or you will regret it," said Sendak. "I do not tolerate disobedience."

When the Champion didn't let go, Sendak leant forward and licked the Champion's face from chin to forehead. The Champion shuddered, scrubbing at his face to get the saliva off. The flimsy piece of fabric protecting the Champion's modesty was immediately removed.

Sendak turned off the taps, leaving the Champion in waist high water. The human was definitely glaring at him like a sulking kitten, hair slicked back by Sendak's spit. He'd drawn his legs up, crossing them at the ankles.

Digging around in his grooming kit, Sendak threw the Champion a brush and soap.

"Here. If you're so confident you can wash, go ahead," said Sendak.

Eyeing him off like there was some trick to the offering, the Champion snatched up the brush and soap, and started to wash. He turned away, then turned back, unwilling to expose himself or leave his back open to attack.

"Wash. Or I will wash you."

Sendak stood, picking up the kit to sit on the Champion's bed and to start making selections from it. The Champion was his, and he would be perfect the next time he entered the arena.

The splashing noises in the bath reassured Sendak that the Champion was bathing. He pulled out a vial of scent, and a bottle of paint. When the Champion had been captured, he had paint on his eyes. The black rim suited him, flicking up at the sides.

At the bottom of the kit was a new set of clothes, which Sendak laid out on the Champion's bed. If he wanted the clothes, he had to come and get them.

And if he thought he was going to put them on without his wounds being tended to, then the Champion had another thing coming.

The splashing stopped. Sendak glanced over and smirked. Dark eyes stared at him from the rim of the bath, the Champion watching Sendak closely.

"Get out of the bath," ordered Sendak.

Reluctantly, the Champion climbed out. He straightened his back, like any good soldier, to wait for inspection. His hands still covered his crotch, but aside from that it was a perfect stance.

There was still dirt on the Champion. His hair was foul, hardly washed, and Sendak could smell the Champion's human scent under the soap.

The bathwater had turned a sandy brown. Sendak drained it, letting the bath clean itself, before filling it again.

"Get in," said Sendak.

"But I'm clean."

The Champion found himself being dunked into the water and being vigorously scrubbed down. Sendak allowed no mercy, not letting the Champion's flailing and cursing stop him, claws digging into the Champion's skin.

"Stay still," ordered Sendak.

The Champion took a swipe at him instead.

Retaliating, Sendak held the Champion's face and dragged one claw across his cheek, over his nose, and into the other cheek.

"I said stay still. Or I'll do that again," said Sendak. He licked the blood from his claw. "And I shall enjoy the taste of your blood every time."

He licked the wound, taking every drop of welling blood with it.

Unsurprisingly, the Champion stayed still.


	2. Chapter 2

The Champions wounds were easily treated with medical gel, especially as Sendak didn't have to shave away thick fur from skin. It was quiet, a process where neither of them spoke as Sendak held his gladiator still to smear gel onto the Champion's back. The muscles twitched as the wound was sealed over.

"Don't move," said Sendak.

While the Champion had dried off with a small square of cloth, the cell was still cold and he shivered in the middle of the room. His fingers curled up, matching the angry scowl on the Champion's face.

Sendak pretended to ignore him, taking his time to go through the grooming kit. Scissors, razor, shaving cream, wax and wax papers – Sendak had it all in the kit. It had been some time since he'd shaved anyone, and really he should have summoned one of the fur cutters that looked after the ship's inhabitants, yet Sendak wanted to do it himself.

The cut on the Champion's face was still raw, trying to clot. It reopened every time the Champion tried to express himself, some of the blood rolling down his cheeks. One hand rose to wipe off the blood.

Sendak was on him before it even came halfway.

"Still," he said. "You have no patience."

"None for the likes of you," growled the Champion.

Mouthing off was certainly not to be tolerated. Grabbing the Champion by his shaggy hair, Sendak dragged him over to the pull out table and pushed him against it. The plastic would be cold against the Champion's bare skin, and while Sendak didn't want to reapply medical gel to his wounds so soon, he had no compunctions about teaching his gladiator a lesson. Pushing at the Champion's shoulders, Sendak snarled into his face and slammed him down.

"Chatty little thing, aren't you?" said Sendak.

"I guess you prefer the quiet ones, so you can do as you please without protest," the Champion said.

He gritted his teeth as Sendak dug his claw into the cut on his face, breaking the scab. He barked out a laugh.

"I like the ones that make me money," said Sendak.

He ran his hand over the Champion's jawline, leaving a smear of blood on it. The Champion was still laughing. Humans made no sense sometimes. They both knew Sendal could crush him at any point, and yet the human laughed at him. Laughed!

The Champion drew his legs in and kicked at Sendak's breastplate. Even as vulnerable as he was, the Champion was still going to fight him.

The kick did nothing, of course, and deflected off Sendak's armour.

"I'm going to cut your hair," Sendak said. "You decide how well I do it. You also decide whether you get clothes or not."

The Champion screeched and kicked again and again. Sighing, Sendak pulled him up. He held him by the upper arm, the Champion wildly slapping and punching Sendak's arm.

Calmly, Sendak collected his tools and sat on the bed, wrapping his arm around the Champion's waist and pulling him in to sit on his lap. It seemed like the best way to keep the Champion close while cutting his hair.

The human looked tiny on his lap, even though Sendak knew he was larger than either of his crew mates. The Champion wriggled as far away as he could, twisting around to keep an eye on Sendak. Well, that suited Sendak just fine.

He took up his scissors and started to cut away. There had been a file included with the Champion's purchase, filled with information from the human's ship and images from his registration into the Galra prison system. One of them had been in a green uniform. An official photo from the Champion's space agency.

The Champion had looked handsome. Regal, even. The haircut suited him. It was what Sendak tried to replicate now, wet hair dropping between them. Now that he was on Sendak's lap, the Champion didn't seem to want to move, strangely obedient.

Of course he had to be plotting something. Yet no attack came, the rise and fall of the Champion's shoulders slowing as he went pliant, turning his head back and forth when Sendak moved it. The undercut reemerged, and the fringe was trimmed away from the Champion's eyes.

Once that was finished, Sendak started to cut designs into the undercut. Triangular shapes flowed from his gladiator's neck, shapes that matched the intricate decorative fur shaving of the Galra warriors. This particular design had belonged to Sendak's family for three thousand years, representing their house and status in the Galra Empire. Before they had climbed the ranks, they had been farmers, and while others would have been ashamed of that, their family was strong and proud, and shaped their patterns after their fields that fed their armies.

There was still a planet where Sendak's relatives grew essential grains for Zarkon's warships. They fed the army, and they made the Empire stronger.

These fields were placed into the Champion's undercut. Later, Sendak would rub colour into the hair, green and gold to represent the fields as they progressed from planting to harvest.

"Lovely," murmured Sendak.

He brushed cut hair from the Champion's shoulders.

"Stand and turn slowly."

The Champion bolted from Sendak's lap, putting himself out of reach of Sendak's organic arm. The new designs in his hair were delightful, clearly visible even though there had been so little hair to work with. The Champion turned as ordered.

"Do I get the clothes?" asked the Champion.

Sendak inspected him carefully. The fur on the Champion's legs looked out of place. Other species used hot wax to rip off the hair. It was faster, and lasted longer than shaving.

"I shall wax your legs first," Sendak decided. "Then you will have your reward."

The bottle of wax he'd purchased for his grooming kit had been expensive due to its status as a luxury item and low demand for it on Galra ships. It was light yellow in colour, and stayed hot until applied to skin. Sendak had never used it on himself, but it had worked on several gladiators. It should be no different for the Champion.

Sendak gestured to the bed, uncorking the bottle. The Champion laid down, hands going back to his crotch again.

"Why insist on this modesty? I've seen all of you, washed you, cut your hair," said Sendak.

To the Galra, the Champion's reproductive organs weren't particularly impressive. Proportionally Sendak assumed that the Champion was impressive to someone of his own species. Or even of his own size. Yet the Champion was easily two times smaller than Sendak. The pale flesh was not particularly interesting to Sendak, only what it could do to earn him money.

When the Champion did not reply, Sendak shook his head and started to pour out the wax. Smearing it on, he applied the paper over the top and waited for it to cool.

Ripping it off was satisfying. Watching the the Champion startle every time the paper was removed made Sendak vary the timing, making sure it was a surprise every time.

When he was done, Sendak capped the bottle and packed up the kit. Tomorrow he'd bathe the Champion again, then paint him for the arena.

"You can have the clothes," said Sendak, leaving them on the bed. "Act better tomorrow, and you might get a prize."

The Champion had his nails digging into his raw legs, sitting up to glare at Sendak.

"Keep your anger for the arena. Be victorious and bring honour to your name," Sendak continued.

"You don't even know my name," snapped the Champion.

"Of course I know. It's Takashi 'Shiro' Shirogane. Youngest solo pilot of your world. Pilot to the the _Persephone_ , a pitiful mission by your primitive race to explore as far as you've ever been, hoping to prove the existence of life other than yourself in the universe," said Sendak.

He clicked the kit shut and left the room, pleased that the silence behind him was sheer shock. Good. Maybe Shirogane would realise that he was not going to escape. Maybe he would put his energies toward climbing the ranks at the arena and making himself favourable.

A gladiator depended on the favours of their audience. They could make or break a career, and Sendak found that he was rather fond of his human. It would be a shame to see that career end prematurely.


	3. Chapter 3

Previous wins in the arena made Sendak feel generous the next morning, and so he allowed Shirogane to paint his eyes by himself. Besides, Sendak had never been particularly good at eye paints. Shirogane sat patiently in front of a mirror from Sendak's grooming kit, slicking on the paint.

He was half in his jumpsuit, back exposed for Sendak to apply more medical gel. The wounds had nearly cleared up, but Sendak put a second layer on to make sure. Shirogane didn't seem to mind Sendak touching him, rolling his shoulders as Sendak slicked the gel on.

"Hand," said Sendak.

Shirogane put the black eye paint down, sealing the brush inside so it wouldn't dry out, and held out one hand for Sendak. Into it, Sendak squeezed a few drops of medical gel.

"For your face."

It wasn't nearly enough to seal the wound, but it would prevent any forming infections. Shirogane dabbed it on with a few restrained hisses as the gel started to disinfect the raw skin. He was otherwise silent, not even bothering to glare at Sendak like he had the day before.

Sendak had left his prosthetic arm near the door of the cell, motionless until he needed it. After the previous day's display of power, Sendak didn't feel he needed it unless the Champion became rowdy. It's presence was enough for Shirogane to glance at it every now and then, as if expecting it to fly across the room and pin him down.

Retrieving the hair pigments, Sendak popped their caps and let their dishes rest on Shirogane's shoulders.

"Don't let the dishes fall."

The Champion's shoulders were wide enough to accommodate the dishes comfortably. Yet the man still went as motionless and straight as a pillar. A wise move.

The chalky pigments clung to Shirogane's hair, a finer cloud of colour drifting to his shoulders, dusting him in gold and green. It was a pretty effect. Maybe he'd look into purple chalk or paint to decorate Shirogane with. Lilac would look stunning on him.

Shirogane quivered as the brush touched his neck, ruffling the shorter hairs on his nape. The dishes wobbled. Sendak paused, waiting to see what would happen.

They stayed on his shoulders.

Sendak brushed the nape of Shirogane's neck, and he quivered for a second time.

"Interesting," said Sendak.

"It's ticklish," replied Shirogane. "I can't do anything to stop it."

Not wanting the dishes to deposit their contents into Shirogane's lap, Sendak recapped them and put them away. He found a clean brush, and dragged it across Shirogane's neck and shoulders.

The response was a gasp and Shirogane leaping from his seat.

"I didn't give you permission to stand," said Sendak.

It was probably for the best. The match would be starting soon and the Champion had to warm up before that. Shirogane stared at him defiantly, matching his gaze. They stayed like that for thirty or so ticks, until Sendak looked to the communicator on his wrist to check the time.

"Put your suit on," ordered Sendak.

It wasn't submission. Shirogane hadn't won because he had kept his gaze. They simply did not have enough time to play for dominance.

In that game, Sendak would always win.

"You will explain what 'ticklish' is later. I want to know more about it," Sendak said.

Shirogane sealed up his suit, and put his purple shirt on over the top. This one was considerably less ragged, almost new.

"Out."

Sendak nudged the Champion towards the door. It slid open as Sendak retrieved his cybernetic arm, his quintessential signature unlocking it.

The green and gold in Shirogane's undercut shimmered in the purple lights as Sendak pushed him into the corridor that lead to the arena. Sendak left the grooming kit behind for one of his lieutenants to collect. However he pocketed the black eye paint.

They walked in silence, the sound of Sendak's heavy boots echoing off the metal walkway, Shiro's feet camouflaged in the noise. As they approached the main competitor's entrance, the noise of the arena grew louder. Sendak was eager for the audience to see the Champion all cleaned up, and then bathed in the blood of his enemies.

Earning patronage from wealthy patrons would bring in more money for Sendak, most of it going into private vaults. Then there were the gifts directly for the gladiators to help them in the arena. Armour, weapons, medication, training time, terrain choices, and game types were all purchasable.

However, the gladiator first had to rank up. Shirogane may be known as the Champion, but that was for the prisoner games. Given enough time to rank up, Shirogane could buy a spot in the elite arenas. There he would fight gladiators who had also come from the prison cells, or even those Galra who decided to make a career out of gladiator matches as entertainers.

The elite had a better chance at living to retire, as audiences had favourites and wouldn't want to see their favourites die. Some of the prisoner gladiators were offered places in the Galra army, or even a chance at going back to their home planet, if it still existed. Most of the gladiators that made it to elite arenas had usually found the Galra way of thinking to be preferable to any previous ideologies they may have held.

The stubbornness of Shirogane made Sendak believe that the human wouldn't be offered a chance to join the Empire. He'd die before that, but not before Sendak had made considerable profits off him and bought some other gladiators to replace him.

They entered the arena armoury. Most of the weapons were subpar, old and abused from their former military life. Sendak inspected the walls, stopping Shirogane from moving by wrapping his cybernetic hand around him. There was a growl of protest, which quietened when Sendak clenched slightly.

The guards in the armoury visibly relaxed, no doubt familiar with the lethality of the Champion, even unarmed.

That dealt with, Sendak went back to the weapons and picked up a thin blade. About a metre and a half long, it was lighter and quicker than the usual sword Shirogane used. The handle had a curved guard that wrapped over its wielder's hand, and the blade itself crackled slightly as it sliced through the air.

It was the favourite of Shirogane's opponent, Nyxxia, one renowned for making the audience wait until he felt like making an appearance. It would serve the cocky gladiator right, not to mention infuriate him. Technically, the armoury was a free-for-all for any of the gladiators, and no weapon could be reserved. However there were unspoken rules amongst the gladiators, and taking Nyxxia's favourite would break one of them.

Disrupting the rules meant the resulting fight would be delightful. The arena needed a shake-up, anyway. It would teach Nyxxia to be on time.

"Take this," said Sendak.

He released Shirogane from his hand and tossed the sword over. The Champion, as fit for his title, caught it and twirled the blade experimentally.

"She's called the electric wasp," said Sendak. "She's the nicest weapon here."

"I've never seen this one available before. What's the catch?" asked Shiro.

"All weapons are available for your use. I want you to make an impression," said Sendak.

Shirogane held it, finding its balance. The guards shifted nervously at their posts as Shirogane tossed it into the air, rolled, and caught it.

"Now, today's match is not a death match," said Sendak. "The aim is to land a strike on the other person first."

"Agility. Speed. Stealth," said Shiro. "I don't know how stealthy I'll be when you have my hair all glittered up in yellow and gold."

"You're adaptable. I'm sure you can find a way to make the best use of it."

Then it was time for Shirogane to go into his holding cell, sealed off until he was to be released onto the arena.

Sendak took a lift up to the officer's lounge, greeted by a lieutenant with a goblet of alcohol and escorted to his seat. It was front and centre, next to Nyxxia's owner, Faleen.

"Are you ready for your so-called Champion to be defeated?" sneered Faleen.

"He is more ambitious than you'd like to acknowledge," replied Sendak. He sipped his drink, signed off on a betting document, and waited for the match to start. "We shall see how your pet fares when his favourite toys are taken away from him."

They had to wait longer than usual, even for Nyxxia's standards, and Sendak assumed there was a tantrum being thrown in the armoury. Eventually the gladiator cells opened, releasing both Shirogane and Nyxxia. As expected, Nyxxia howled angrily, charging for Shirogane's cell immediately.

The alien was taller than Shirogane, covered in silver-blue scales and carrying a bladed weapon in each of his four hands. His face was as if someone had squashed a fish against a pane of glass, and had decided that six eyes were inadequate, so why not add another eight? The combined fury and number of weapons he carried made Nyxxia a very dangerous opponent.

However, while Shirogane had gone into the cell, the Champion had come out of it.

The match was over in a matter of minutes. The Champion ducked and wove, rolling away until he was covered in dirt and his gold and yellow hair was obscured. Nyxxia swung, stabbed, slashed, but didn't manage to land the hit needed to win the match. The movements were too wild and out of control for there to be any strategy or chance of winning.

"That's mine!" he screeched, voice magnified by the inbuilt microphone in his jumpsuit.

"Not anymore," said the Champion.

The blade crackled, the Champion ducked once more and dove behind Nyxxia, landing a blow on Nyxxia's rear. It cut open Nyxxia's jumpsuit and left a red welt, broken scales peeling away from the heat.

While they were disappointed by the length of the match, the crowd laughed at the injury. Nyxxia was popular, yet well-known for making the arena wait, and his bratty attitude. Unlike Shirogane, Nyxxia took to the arena willingly and with gusto. Shirogane was there for survival.

"I thought this was supposed to be a challenge," said the Champion. "Instead I was sent a child who needed to clear his head."

A camera bot flew closer, capturing the disgust on the Champion's face as he inspected his defeated opponent. The bravado, the pleasure at his win was mostly faked. The crowd couldn't tell, but Sendak knew that the Champion would revert to Takashi Shirogane inside his living cell, repulsed by the act he had to put on.

It didn't matter. Not until it stopped him from fighting. Then Sendak would dispose of him and buy a new gladiator.

Judging by the earnings rolling in from bets, Sendak would have more than enough to buy a gladiator three times more valuable than Shirogane, and purchase that leisure spacecraft he had been interested in refurbishing as some sort of luxury retreat for Galra officers.

Later, when Shirogane was washing in his bath, Sendak entered and left the black eye paint on the rim of the bath.

"Your reward. Next time, make the match longer," said Sendak.

Shirogane didn't respond, staring at the paint, hands frozen in soapy hair. Then his hands started to move, and he dunked himself underwater. Sendak didn't understand what Shirogane was trying to achieve, and had no patience to puzzle it out, so he left the gladiator to wash by himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's kind comments! I will reply to them soon <3


	4. Chapter 4

The first patron gift came early in the morning after the fight with Nyxxia. Two hours in the training sim. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Sendak didn't check on Shirogane at all that day, leaving it to his lieutenants to wrangle the gladiator to the training sim and back. In a way it was almost a rest day as Shirogane hadn't been scheduled for any fights.

Nyxxia had been given two in a row and then a third in the afternoon, presumably to garner back favour after he'd been spanked by a frail species that hadn't even achieved intergalactic travel yet. Sendak had replayed the recording a few times the night before for his own amusement.

Shirogane hadn't even hit that hard, otherwise the cut would have been significantly deeper. Sendak took care to remind both Nyxxia and Faleen of it.

The training sim results were sent to Sendak's quarters, and he listened to them as he cleaned up for the day. It was promising. Shirogane's intelligence and head for strategy served him well, but his strength was letting him down. One sim he would have won if not for the fact that he couldn't push his sword between the plates on his virtual opponent.

Shirogane needed more of everything. He needed muscle and agility and combat training. He was good, but he could be the best.

Sendak finished tidying his quarters and took up his datapad, flicking through to Shirogane's gladiator profile and making adjustments to the list of gifts patrons could buy for him. He added several Druid-based ones on a whim, their price so exorbitant that Sendak knew nobody in their right mind would pay it as it cost more than Shirogane's freedom from the arena.

Yet putting it on the list was an open dare and the Druids would have been notified that someone had put out feelers for their abilities. Sometimes they felt generous and rewarded such daring.

Sometimes they did more than what the recipient paid for.

***

Sendak was about to head to his usual box at the arena when he was pinged on his datapad by one frazzled looking Lieutenant Ara.

"Commander, we have a problem with your gladiator," said Lieutenant Ara. "We need you to help."

Shirogane was back to being feisty and uncooperative, then. It felt like Shirogane was purposely misbehaving to waste Sendak's time. Sendak sighed, abruptly changed direction, much to the offense of the spectators behind him, and headed for Shirogane's quarters.

Shirogane was clean, and Sendak's nose felt quietly blessed as the human had truly reeked. Yet he was also refusing to put on clothes. In fact Shirogane ignored him, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room with his eyes closed.

"You didn't wish to be exposed in front of me a few days ago and yet now you stubbornly remain in your birth flesh. Get dressed," said Sendak.

They were going to be late for the match.

"You heard the commander, get dressed," barked Lieutenant Ara, rather ineffectively as his voice squeaked at the end.

Shirogane made no motions to obey, even smiling at the squeak. Foolish. Sendak was in no mood to wrangle clothes, especially not the flimsy bodysuit issued to prisoners.

"He can fight like this," said Sendak to Lieutenant Ara. "Teach him a lesson about being a hissy human."

Shirogane's eyes snapped open at that and he moved towards his clothes, but Sendak's prosthetic grabbed him and pulled him back to the entrance.

"You had your chance, Champion. Now you can suffer the same humiliation other cocky little gladiators get when they're reprimanded. You're not above Nyxxia just because you struck him off a rank higher than your own," said Sendak.

He held Shirogane the whole way to the armoury. These acts of rebellion were frustrating and irritating, and couldn't Shirogane _see_ that Sendak was trying to set up a comfortable existence for his time as a gladiator?

Dumping Shirogane into the armoury was satisfying, especially as the other gladiators turned to stare. Shirogane had picked a poor time to be nude, Sendak thought to himself. The arena was set for a drawn out survival game, with little shelter from the sunlight lamps that lit it.

Sendak had no doubt Shirogane would survive, but he would certainly rethink not dressing to escape his booked arena appearances. Already it had dawned on Shirogane that this wasn't a ploy and Sendak truly intended on sending him out without any clothes. On top of that, all of the weapons had been claimed, and so Shirogane would either have to steal, kill, or scavenge for one.

Judging by some of the uneasy looks the other gladiators threw Shirogane, they had been claimed regardless of whether they needed them or not.

"Rethink your defiance, Champion," said Sendak. "Vrepit sa."

The gladiators were called to their doors, each positioned somewhere around the arena. Shirogane had been given one far away from the armoury, closer to Sendak's box seat.

"Victory or death," said Shirogane. "How many kills will it take for you to be satisfied?"

"I bought you because you showed cunning, Shirogane. Show me that and you may not have to kill anyone at all," said Sendak.

Just as Shirogane was about to turn to the corridor that would take him to his door, Sendak was filled with a momentary doubt that Shirogane would survive. Without clothing, he looked smaller and more fragile than ever before. 

Then it was gone as Sendak reached for Shirogane's shoulder with his organic arm and drew him close to slick back Shirogane's fringe with one sticky swipe of his tongue. It was what any Galra would do for someone they knew well or had an interest in. Commanding officers often licked each other's fur before an inspection or used a quick tongue to fix an underling's fur after a training simulation. Sendak wanted Shirogane to look his best and to make sure that the hair was truly unable to disrupt his vision.

It wasn't anything more than that.

"Vrepit sa," said Shirogane quietly, and the face that stared at Sendak belonged to the Champion, full of determination despite his vulnerability.

Sendak shoved him towards the door and left to be seated in his reserved box.

***

The challenge went on for two days, which wasn't unusual for this type of game. In the bigger, planet-based arenas, they could last for weeks. If Shirogane played his cards right he would have the chance to fight in one of those games. The slots were highly sought after, but they couldn't be bought with money, only ranks. There was at least five of these longer survival games going at any one time, and they were broadcast throughout the Empire.

In fact, it was these games that Sendak had studied for so long to discover exactly what he wanted in a gladiator.

The one Shirogane was competing in was only bounced throughout the immediate fleet accompanying the warship.

With the game taking so long, Sendak watched the first hour and then went to attend to his duties as Commander. Every now and then he'd check the live broadcast for updates, but the Champion had stolen a jumpsuit off someone else (they'd been killed by another gladiator) and claimed a nasty pricking dagger (pickpocketed) within thirty minutes.

He was in a meeting when his datapad pinged to inform him Shirogane had been gifted with purple and gold body paints. For the next time the Champion decided to go nude, Sendak thought with a huff of amusement.

It had been sent from a group of admirers in the west quarter of the fourth deck. Who was Sendak to deny the Champion's admirers what they wanted? Shirogane clearly appealed to spectators in more than one way.

Sendak refocused on the meeting, listening to his quartermaster ask approval for various supplies and what they should be paying for them.

And late in the ship's night cycle, Sendak's datapad started pinging multiple times, the tone overlapping in its haste to deliver the all of the notifications it was receiving.

Since military messages had a different sound assigned to them, Shirogane had either died or the match was over.

Drowsily, Sendak glanced at it, confirmed that Shirogane was indeed still alive and that the pings were winnings and patronage gifts, and went back to sleep.

He'd groom Shirogane in the morning after he'd sorted out the gifts. Maybe even pick out something as a reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Sendak get over grooming Shiro? Nope.


End file.
